Nary a Soul
by snakelaces
Summary: A birthday, an eavesdropper, a word-thief, and four different types of silence. Drabble.


_**A birthday, an eavesdropper, a word-thief, and four different types of silence.**_

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**Nary A Soul**

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The morning is young, and powdery sunlight trickles in reluctantly through the parlor windows. They're open, but no one's around to peer inside or indulge in any tremulous eavesdropping. There are no spies. There are no witnesses. None at all.

Or there wouldn't have been, if it hadn't been for one tiny, earnestly anxious little girl who'd come to wish her favorite fiancé a very happy birthday.

"I knew you'd surrender eventually."

"Huh. You _would_ see it that way."

"Are you acting bitter now, young Master? I never would have imagined..."

"Your sarcasm is enlightening. Please do continue, Sebastian. Any other wonderous insights you'd like to share?"

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid."

Silence. Welcome, but not quite comfortable, like sitting down on a hard, rickety old stool after a long day's exhaustive labor. The curtains flutter out as a small breeze blows into the room, brushing across its occupants' faces as a master painter brushes his tableau's finishing stroke. The girl nestles herself behind the drapes, curling herself into a tight little ball and hoping desperately she won't be seen.

She didn't mean to intrude. But the entire estate was deserted, with nary a soul to be seen. Finny, Bard and Mey-Rin were all oddly absent, leaving the manor with an empty, creepy air she was entirely unaccustomed to. Nobody had answered the front door when she'd knocked—repeatedly, and hard, too—so she'd assumed that Sebastian had been out as well. And since her fiancé wouldn't go anywhere without his omnipresent "right hand", Lizzy had decided that they'd all gone out on some errand or other.

But there was still that _feeling__**. **__A_ strange sensation in her gut that told her to stay. Lizzy didn't know exactly what compelled her to skulk around the estate, looking for a way in, looking for Ciel. Something was not quite right. _No_. _Something was wrong_, _very wrong_. Call it luck, call it a woman's intuition. But whatever it was, it most definitely was what let her find the window. And what compelled her to stay.

"Was it all a lie? Everything you've said or done. Was it a lie?"

"Now, now, young Master. There are some trees one mustn't bark up."

"Don't condescend to me."

"Ah, but what would you do with the answer? It's far too late to do you any good, not that it could have done so in the first place. It might damage your psyche."

"A little late for that, isn't it?"

"Never, my Lord."

"Tell me."

"There are some things one mustn't know. Are you sure you're willing to risk it? The consequences might be dire."

"..."

"I've come to notice that your bark is often bigger than your bite, my Lord."

"Do be quiet."

What are they talking about? _**What**_ was a lie? She doesn't understand. They banter easily, as if engaging in routine parlor talk, but she can't help feeling as if there's something she's missing. Some meaning, taut and strained, hidden under layers of easy familiarity. She can feel it. She listens.

"I'm curious, my Lord. May I pose a question?"

"You'll ask whether or not I grant you permission."

"Did you ever think there was a way out?"

"Of what?"

"Do you truly need the answer to that?

" ... No."

"Well then, young Master?"

"No."

"Why not answer? Keeping secrets won't serve you any purpose now."

"Must you remind me constantly? Besides, I was answering your query, not refusing it. No. No, I never thought there was a way out. I made a contract with a demon, sealed it in blood. Only an idiot would hope for escape. Do you take me for a fool, Sebastian?"

"Not in the slighest."

"Liar."

"Only perhaps."

"Besides, why the sudden inquiry into the human psyche? You've had plenty of time for your questions before now."

"I find most of my answers like this, young Master. I've often found that prey reveal the most after they've been caught."

"..."

And again, silence. Not the same as before, no. This silence is difference is tense, anxious, ill at ease. The silence where the beast contemplates his kill. The silence of a murderer's mark when heavy fingers squeeze a little too hard. The silence of a graveyard in the early morning. It isn't a good silence.

The eavesdropper senses this, and endeavors to make her breathing quieter. She's not quite sure what she'd do should she be discovered. She's never spied on Ciel before. Spying is not something proper young ladies do. She's sure the consequences would be dire, and yet she can't muster the resolve or the courage to flee. Something keeps Lizzy there, rooting her to the spot behind the window, pushing her to decipher the seemingtly straightforward conversation happening in front of her.

"Must you always speak in terms of the hunter and hunted? There is more to humanity than cheap food for those like you."

"Is there now?"

"..."

"Now, now, my young Lord. You aren't going to go spouting some ridiculous spiel about the good of humanity, are you? How there's some innate goodness to people that just needs to be dug up?"

"A gem, rough and unpolished, but a gem nonetheless."

"Potential, purpose, meaning, a raison d'être for every human being that just needs to be given time in order to reach full bloom."

"Yes, we're all wonderful creatures..."

"Most definitely."

"...when it comes time for a snack."

"That as well."

"Tactful as ever, Sebastian. Do you ever let the mask slip? I wonder what you're truly like."

"Mask? Surely you jest, my Lord. You of all people should know, especially given your current condition. Besides, why the sudden inquiry into the demonic psyche? You've had plenty of time to pose your questions before now."

"I've found that the hunter is often most honest once he's done away with his prey."

"Ah."

Silence. It's not a bad silence, or a good one either. Neither comfortable nor awkward. It's the silence of the swindling con man calculating his next profit. It's the silence of the manipulator crafting his next pre-prepared conversation. It's the silence of odds, the silence of stakes, it's the silence of the damned.

Somehow, the girl senses this from her hiding place just outside the window. So, as the silence lifts and the talk begins again, she musters the remaining dregs of her courage and peeks over the windowsill.

The room is bathed in sunlight. She blinks and squints, resisting the urge to lift her hand up to shield her eyes, knowing that even the slightest unnecessary movement might give her away.

As she hears them continue to talk, she peers around the room, trying quickly, desperately to find _**it**_. What's wrong. Why she came. The feeling of intense wrongness that's been eating away at her insides ever since she first came. What is it? Why? And so she looks. And sees.

Two people are sitting opposite from each other. One's eyes are open in intense contemplation, the other's closed in rest. One posits himself in the most impeccable of postures, the other angles awkwardly in his seat. One speaks, and puts words in the mouth of the other. The man is alive, and the boy is dead.

Two people sit opposite from each other. Only one's been talking.

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**I am morbid, and reviews are nice.**


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